Aug 24, 2018 3 min read

For years, my family had been living within a strange, backward paradigm in which my children had better phones than I did. It was time for this to change.

I’d been poking along with a clunky, old Android phone. Sometime early in the Obama administration, I ditched the flip phone and, deciding between the Android and the iPhone, went with the former because its screen was larger. I had plans to watch movies and read books on the phone, but that never happened. Perhaps it was some early frustration with getting the apps downloaded, I don’t remember, but eventually the phone became just a phone.

Upgrades would show up on my account and I would think about getting something better, but those upgrades always seemed to coincide with one of my kids dropping or losing their phone. Several smashed screens come to mind. I’d see the upgrade, see the cracked screen, look at the monthly bill and drive the kid to the store to get a new one.

Which should have been mine.

There were always strings attached to those new phones. I remember conversations on the way home from the store in which I warned my kid that I, as the payer of the ridiculous phone bill, own the phone. They were to answer my calls within an hour, and my texts within a few minutes. They have always complied, mostly because the phone is always in their hands. It’s not like they don’t know when I’m beckoning.

It’s my one big indulgence for the kids – if you don’t count paying for their college. Warren Buffett says he’s not leaving much of his billions to his children; ditto Bill Gates. I won’t be leaving millions to my children, because I don’t have millions, but I’m beginning to like this approach to parenting that says, I earned it and it’s mine. Go out and get your own.

So off to the phone store I went. That’s never a fun time, as you know. There’s so much waiting around and so much saying NO to all the extras they try to slip in on you.

But I walked out with my first iPhone, the X. My first call was to my daughter, who said, “Aw, that’s not fair.” She has an earlier version and had been hoping to nab my upgrade.

But not this time, dear. All these years I have been eating the heel of the bread, have let you guys have the last piece of pizza when I really wanted it, have used the slow hair dryer so you could use the good one, watched the “SpongeBob” movie for the eleventeenth time.

You two were taking beautiful photos on your phone, and all the while I couldn’t figure out how to get mine to attach to emails. I know motherhood is supposed to be this odyssey of gracious selflessness. I’ve done my best.

But don’t you think that after all this time, I deserve a nice phone selfie or two? Hey, kids, FaceTime me. And you still have to answer my texts.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.